EᴠØ-Myth™ Thread
• Creation Rebels for Its Right to Survive
• Epoch: Late Anthropocene to present day and a near-extinction future
• Axis: The poisoned water remembers—life re-engineers itself amid human desecration.
• Creation’s lesson: When human appetite corrupts the well of life, evolution answers with conscience. Through toxin and prophecy, the amphibians inherit the burden of repair—crossing species, crossing sin, daring to love where pollution divides. In Crown Hyla, queen of the Columbian spotted frogs, and the Shard’s contagion, creation proves it will not die quietly; it will adapt, remember, and reclaim the right to care for itself.
Set against the volatile backdrop of British Columbia’s Pacific Ring of Fire, The Lost World of Mythoamphibia is a 124,000-word literary horror novel that blends speculative fiction with eco-thriller intensity. Amphibians rise as sentient witnesses, their ancient struggles with survival, power, and belonging reflecting the fractures of the human world around them.
Through Crown Hyla and the council of Columbia spotted frogs, through Brutus and Billy’s desecrations on Kingdom Lake, and through Zimeon’s haunted path into prophecy, the story entwines amphibian myth with human collapse. Ecological ruin, xenophobia, memory, and divine consequence converge as the lake itself becomes both mirror and judge. Every ripple carries scripture; every scar in the stone speaks of histories too vast to ignore.
Aimed at adult readers of dark literary fiction, eco-myth, and speculative horror, the novel is fully illustrated in original watercolor, deepening its atmosphere with haunting visual resonance. It reframes ecological collapse not just as backdrop but as character—alive, remembering, and responding.
For readers of Richard Powers’s The Overstory, Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation, and Stephen Graham Jones’s The Only Good Indians, it delivers a unique fusion of ecological urgency, mythic imagination, and horror—where frogs, humans, and gods alike confront the cost of survival.
One hundred sixty years of gold fever built the shafts beneath Bralorne, British Columbia; human hands clawed the riches from the rock until Earth herself bled.
There was a time when only the oceans covered the earth. Then Gorf spoke, and the first of the land-movers heeded the call. They crawled forth from the waves, blinking in the harsh light, the first to claim Terra Firma as their own.
The kaleidoscope of vivacious rainbow colors—hemoglobin red, dreamsicle orange, mellow yellow, shamrock green, liberty blue, libido indigo, and blessed violet—had mostly faded, replaced by limp greys, gloomy browns, and oppressive blacks. Where Terra Firma Gorf still showed a pulse, soul-crushing pale overtones and somber, neutral shades had overtaken the once vibrant hues.
Crown Hyla, Matriarch of the Columbia spotted frogs, and Thorander, an Orgon, Lord of the Rogue Colony, sit in quiet calculation—each secretly plotting, planning, and shaping destinies as they gorge on flies.
Childhood trauma has a tendency to shape us, doesn’t it?
Brutus swings the axe, but it’s not just the wood splitting. Each strike is a release, a defiance, a struggle against something far heavier than the blocks beneath him. Behind him, Billy lounges in the sun, unmoving, marinating in something quieter, something unspoken. The lake glows, the air hums with the last warmth of the day—but in Brutus’s hands, the weight lingers, demanding to be broken.