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HIMEROS by ELYON

40% pure oil. 35-month aged.
A fragrance born not from inspiration, but from intoxication.
Crafted from the darkest and most forbidden raw ingredients on Earth, Himeros is a study in primal seduction. Every drop is history, danger, and hunger bottled.

Oud

Wild-harvested agarwood from the monsoon-buried groves of Western Kalimantan, one of the last remaining zones where oud trees are allowed to grow undisturbed. Infected naturally over decades, each log is aged 28 years in volcanic stone chambers before distillation. Its resin is thick, dark, and violently rich. Less than 3 kilos are produced per decade, priced beyond gold.

Leather

A phantom accord drawn from Ethiopian myrrh, blackened castoreum, and oak-aged labdanum resin, cured in wild tobacco barrels and aged for 12 years in sealed goatskin-lined cedar drums. The result is a leather so supple, so intimate, it wears like the memory of bare skin beneath armor.

Tobacco

Hand-cut tobacco leaves from the rain-soaked valleys of Pinar del Río, Cuba, dried in sun-bleached barns and infused with Haitian tonka, then aged in charred rum barrels for 7 years. The aroma is dark, spiced, fermented, a scent that curls in the air like a whispered secret.

Animalic

Ambergris recovered from shipwreck-salvaged drift near the Falkland coast, fused with Siberian castoreum and trace civet, all ethically sourced under strict perfumer trade supervision. These oils are aged 31 years in oxidized copper urns. Worn in trace, they ignite instinct. Worn boldly, they devour.

Aromatic

Wild immortelle flowers from the dry cliffs of Corsica, steam-distilled in ancient glass stills by a single lineage of perfumer monks. Combined with cracked basil and absinthe oil from the outskirts of Provence, the note is herbal, bitter, narcotic, like dusk in a forgotten chapel.

Woody

Battola wood and smoked guaiac from a protected temple reserve in Java, logs that fell naturally, untouched for decades. Aged in humid prayer halls for 15 years before use. The scent is charred, resinous, haunting, like incense that’s never fully gone out.

Sweet

Burnt vanilla pods from Madagascar, folded into smoked tonka and molasses-soaked date pulp, then aged in clay vessels buried beneath the Sahara. This is not a gourmand sweetness. It is thick, dark, addictive, like honey poured over fire.

Earthy

Volcanic soil extract from Mount Batur, Bali, pressed with mushroom mycelium and mineral amber in oak cones aged for 22 years. The aroma is grounding, almost primal. It clings to skin like ash, like sweat, like history.

Smoky

Cedar smoke, oud ash, and scorched resin dust, collected from ritual braziers used in abandoned mountain shrines of Anatolia. Stored in iron vessels sealed with beeswax for two decades. This note moves, it doesn’t sit. It travels. It haunts.