The inheritance dimension had no true sky.
It was a place of shifting golden clouds, endless broken peaks, and rivers of fermented spiritual wine that flowed uphill whenever they felt like it. Time moved strangely there. Decades in the outside Multiverse could pass in what felt like a long, drunken dream, or a single night of fighting could stretch into years of refinement. Wukong had stopped counting long ago, because counting only reminded him how long he had been trapped inside a place where even the rivers had a drinking problem.
