About Myth of Ends

“The historical fiction and sci-fi book of truth!”
Truth or fiction? You decide.
Written by backpacker, independent journalist, and entrepreneur Lee Vaughn.

Oracles, profits, Magi, and Kings! The days will soon return.

They say history began with the plow—modern man stepping from caves, laws pressed into clay, the first furrows of the agricultural revolution. But the stones argue otherwise: fragments scattered across deserts, jungles, and frozen tundra. Missing tools and anomalous artifacts whisper a different account. Something older breathes beneath our myths—something we were not meant to remember.

There are ruins that shouldn’t exist. Dates that don’t add up. Ice cores and cryptic artifacts pointing to advanced civilizations that rose too suddenly—carrying knowledge they weren’t supposed to have. Everywhere, signs of a reset—of a world shattered and remade. And in the silence that follows those fractures, someone always steps in to write the new script.

When we study the world’s ancient myths alongside modern science—and lay them across the map of obscure objects and unexplained phenomena—a clear truth begins to emerge:
Our past is not what we were taught. It was sterilized, filtered, and compressed to fit a timeline designed for control, not clarity. The flood myths, the sky gods, the sudden appearance of Homo sapiens with language, art, and law—it all hints at a story erased and rewritten, not evolved and recorded.

Legends and artifacts speak of small-statured forest pigmies in the hills, skilled dwarfs, and unusually tall hominins with elongated skulls—faces with large eyes and large brains that made observers think something was amiss.

Stories also tell of red-haired cave-dwellers accused of cannibalism, giants said to have double rows of teeth, and large-eyed people living underground who vanished when serpent gods and fiery skies marked an age of upheaval. There were demigods—“shining ones”—who ruled long before a great flood, with tales of resurrection, sky-beings, and kingdoms lost beneath mud.

Scattered reports describe ancient gears and star maps found far from where they should be, and hints of machines and tools that suggest a forgotten level of craft. Some communities are said to have lived on mountaintops; others hid from the sun in the depths below. If we assume humanity as we know it is the whole story, then our search has only just begun.

A lot of popular claims have been debunked, and the Ancient Aliens TV franchise has muddied the waters with misinformation. At the same time, recent research offers credible explanations for how some megalithic structures were built. I’m not convinced they were completely made by Homo sapiens, but by bipedal hominins—“a Homo something”—with math skills so advanced they’re mind-blowing, especially given the absence of computers.

The idea that knowledge was seeded by alternate beings or hybrids has been dismissed largely because the “ancient spaceship” narrative swallowed the discussion. Lets consider that higher beings don’t need machines to incarnate here but use vibration - the essence of the universe. And these star-born beings are capable of building the most advanced machinery in the universe, and manipulating matter, as far as total creation.

When creation or engineering must occur in heavy matter, they add tech as an interface to our physics. Consider this: A diver uses a suit to work underwater. The suit is the interface. An astronaut uses a spacesuit and tools to work in vacuum. A person in VR moves a robot arm to grip real objects.

They don’t need a UFO to arrive; when they choose to build or engineer within this dense layer of reality, technology serves as a bridge between their vibration and our atoms. This doesn’t contradict physics—it likely rests on principles we haven’t yet formalized. Designed by master intelligences, such interfaces (UAPs, etc.) would not harm Earth’s systems; in fact, their holistic devices could improve air quality, crops, and oceans. Imagine a vehicle whose “exhaust” enriches fields—accelerating healthy growth rather than polluting.

In Reality—You’ve seen this crazy news—those headlines trickling out. Pentagon reports that say everything and nothing. Navy pilots chasing “objects” that defy physics. Binary messages in barley fields dismissed with a smirk. It’s not a revelation; it’s a rollout. And what we’re told is never what they know.

People imagine disclosure will come as a trumpet blast, a moment of undeniable truth. But real control doesn’t work like that. It comes in whispers. It comes in frames. A craft here. A sighting there. A documentary designed to direct your awe—and limit it. You are allowed to wonder, but only in the ways they have sanctioned.

Meanwhile, the real questions drift by like ash on the wind: Why do so many of these “unidentified” objects behave like they’ve always been here? Why are ancient temples aligned with patterns that mirror meteor streams? Why did the earliest humans fear the sky, even as they worshipped it?

There are rhythms we are not meant to see. Celestial cycles that once guided our ancestors—then vanished beneath calendars and creeds. One of those cycles is returning. A stream of cosmic debris that some say nearly ended us before. It has a name, if you look hard enough. But even names can be distractions.

It’s memory resurfacing.

And it’s not just the past they’ve buried. It’s the future too.

The technologies that could liberate us—buried in vaults. The energy that flows freely—chained behind patents. Every new tool, every new signal, is given just enough leash to pacify us, but never enough to set us free. The same playbook, still running. But some of us have started to notice.

You feel it, don’t you?

Not fear. Not paranoia. Something else. A pulling. A recognition. Like you’ve walked this road before—under different stars. And maybe you have.

Some stories are too big for a single page.
And some truths can’t be told.
Only rediscovered.

Ice Age Harp

"Sing, O Muse, on your harp, of the age long forgotten—of the days before memory faded like smoke. Call forth the songs of old! When our breath carried no last.

O goddess Ki, globe-born of divine power, cloaked in seven colored seas and sacred clay. Your robe was the sky; your roots sank into rich soil; your naked body the altar of life.

Hail to our Skyfathers of old! The good stewards who raised you in good knowledge and righteous order—those who raised you as the princess of great Lords.

And behold! They commanded the celestial canoe and carved the divine paddle; and through the mighty cosmic crossing, they passed sail; calming their restless spirits into flesh and clay and so found rest in you. Forever in your song.

And lo, with temples and stones they bejeweled you; and to your vast lands, grew the tallest of wheat in your fields. Let us rejoice in those who ruled the heavens and your rich soil as one.

The glorious Skyfathers who braided your vines to perfection. Who fashioned honey to spread on maidens; who crafted holy wines of knowledge; and ruled without breaking your gentle spirit.

Hail to them always! Of this age long forgotten—When their daughters brought forth sons in cries of rapture; and felt no pain.

Hear us O Muse! As the goddess cries with us. Let those days for us rise again, now or for our children. Sing into us so we may pierce the holy veil; the world be purified, and let them descend from the heavens once more!"

- Lee A. Vaughn, Author, Myth Of Ends