Segment 1: The Codifiers Convene
The morning sun crept through the stained-glass windows of Guildhall Great Hall, casting colored fragments across the long marble table where Arcadia's most urgent legal summit was now underway. Seated along both sides were a blend of sharp Earth-born minds and traditional Arcadian legalists—scribes, magistrates, ward stewards, and a few summoned civilian justice officers, all summoned by order of the Crown to build the law that would guide an entire city.
At the head of the hall, King Ethan stood without a throne. His robes bore the gold trim of royal duty, but his sleeves were rolled—ready for the labor of governance, not ceremony.
"This is not a theory forum," he began, voice cutting through the din of early debate. "This summit exists because justice has already been tested. Our officers are acting. Our courts are ruling. It's time the law caught up."
He gestured to the main lectern where a large board had been hung, engraved with a single header:
Crownstead Provisional Code of Criminal Procedure
To be drafted. To be applied. To be lived.
At Ethan's side, the newly arrived Magistrate Halver of Easthold Ward, a native Arcadian with years of village courtkeeping under the old guild-charter system, leaned forward. "Without procedure," he said plainly, "we will drift. Even fair rulings cannot repeat themselves unless the structure is clear."
Opposite him, Amara Belyan, the Earth-born civil rights attorney summoned from Los Angeles months earlier, didn't flinch. "Agreed. But procedure must protect, not just prosecute. Miranda rights, duty of representation, and rules of evidence exist for a reason—even in a realm of summoned magic."
The tension was immediate—and purposeful.
This wasn't a room for harmony. This was a room for structure.
Investigator Vell and Detective Lang were seated together at the side gallery, representing the emerging frontline investigators of Crownstead. They presented a recently concluded smuggling case where procedural gaps nearly allowed the suspect to escape due to improper search justification.
"We're flying without flight lines," Lang said bluntly. "We need a codified arrest standard. Not just arrest power."
From the opposite corner, Officer Kyla Merin stood to address the summit. She recounted the Della Vonn case—Arcadia's first felony elder abuse prosecution—and emphasized how a shared arrest policy across stations would've prevented delays in scene stabilization.
"We shouldn't hesitate because we're uncertain if we're allowed to act," Kyla said, voice steady. "We need to know exactly when we must."
A murmur of agreement followed.
Ethan listened.
Then he spoke.
"From this day forward," he declared, "Crownstead will not govern by reaction. It will govern by framework. I hereby order the formation of a working committee to draft the Provisional Code of Criminal Procedure for the City of Crownstead."
System Update – Governance Tier Advance:
➤ Municipal Legal Authority (Crownstead) Activated
➤ Working Committee: Codifiers of Crownstead
➤ Charter Task: Draft city-level criminal procedure law
➤ Deadline: 15 days
➤ Draft to be reviewed by Sovereign and posted publicly for civic comment
A crystal stylus floated into place as the first statute headers lit across the board.
From arrest to arraignment. From oath to trial.
The law, at last, would begin to breathe.
Segment 2: Arrest to Arraignment
The next three days passed in a blur of ink, parchment, and principled debate. Inside the breakout chambers of Guildhall Great Hall, the Codifiers of Crownstead labored over the foundation of legal continuity: arrest standards, booking protocols, arraignment timeframes, and the growing need for clarity around custodial health policies.
At the center of this effort was the urgent drafting of the Arrest-to-Arraignment Protocol—the hinge between police authority and judicial oversight.
Investigator Vell unrolled a timeline chart along a stone table. "This is our current reality," she said, gesturing to gaps labeled custody delay, intake bottleneck, and arraignment pending. "We're arresting on clear violations. But once the cuffs are on, we're improvising everything else."
"Booking isn't instant," added Detective Lang. "You can have a suspect cuffed at 5 p.m. Friday, and depending on their condition—or how much they pretend they're not okay—you might not get arraignment until Monday."
Amara Belyan scribbled a note. "Back home," she said, "arraignment is typically within 48 hours, but weekends push that to 72 or more. Medical delays, DUI sobering holds—there are variables we need to write into the code. Otherwise we'll punish officers for delays they didn't cause."
Magistrate Halver nodded. "So we codify reasonable delay. We trust the process, but we also plan for exceptions."
By midday, a draft clause was sketched, reviewed, and refined across two subcommittees:
Crownstead Provisional Procedure: Arrest to Arraignment (Draft II)
Custodial Entry Requirement: Officer must declare cause for detainment verbally at the scene. Written cause must be logged within 30 minutes of custody stabilization.
Caution Statement: Suspect must be informed of their rights under the Articles of Allegiance.
Booking and Medical Clearance: All suspects must undergo medical observation prior to official intake. Any claim of injury—regardless of observed severity—must result in Royal Medic evaluation.
If cleared, proceed to booking.
If not cleared, transport to Royal Medical Center for treatment. Officers note delays in the custody log.
Note: Officers have begun colloquially referring to faked conditions that stall booking as "jailitis." This slang is unofficial but now recognized in procedural commentary.
Booking Duration: Booking is estimated at 4–6 hours, though this may extend if medical evaluation or a mandatory DUI sobering hold (minimum 8 hours) applies.
Initial Hearing Requirement: Arraignment must occur within two to four days, accounting for weekends, transport delays, or required stabilization time.
Representation Clause: Accused may request Crown-assigned Civic Defender or proceed pro se.
Victim Notification Clause: Where feasible, victims must be informed of arraignment dates and granted opportunity to submit statement.
Officer Kyla Merin, seated among observers, raised a valid concern.
"What about tracking those delays? If someone's bleeding out or claiming they are, medics come. But if they're faking, we still have to call—and that costs time and response resources."
Callen Vire, seated nearby, offered a wry grin. "We're drafting a checkbox for 'medically cleared to jail' on every custody clearance form now. If they fake it, we'll know."
When the updated scroll was presented to King Ethan that evening, he read it word for word.
At the bottom of the draft, he paused at the notation:
"Delay allowances shall not exceed four days from time of arrest to formal arraignment, unless extreme circumstances are confirmed by certified court authority."
Ethan nodded once. "This allows for dignity, without undermining duty."
He affixed his seal.
System Update: Crownstead Legal Codex
Title: Arrest-to-Arraignment Protocol (Final Draft, Enacted)
Activated: By Order of the Crown
Duration to Hearing: 2–4 Days Max
Health Clauses: Included
Notation: "Booking delays may result from medical clearance, DUI holds, or manifest symptoms of jailitis."
And with that, Arcadia officially recognized not only lawful arrest—but everything that came between restraint and ruling.
Segment 3: Trials of Procedure
The new protocol had been live for just two days when its first true test came through Frostmere Rise Station's front desk at dawn.
"Unit Charlie-3 responding to 10-16 disturbance, possible domestic," the crystal dispatch relayed.
Officer Kyla Merin and her temporary partner for the shift, Officer Rehn Korrin, were already on the saddle, crossing the lower market flats when the call came through. By the time they reached the scene—a split-level residence tucked into the outer row of Guildmere's apprentice quarter—the situation had escalated.
A man stood outside shouting into a crystal relay, his shirt stained and knuckles bloodied. Inside, a woman huddled behind a stack of overturned crates, visibly shaken but unharmed.
After securing the scene, Kyla cuffed the man and separated witnesses. The suspect denied wrongdoing. "It's a misunderstanding," he insisted. "I raised my voice, that's all. You people jump at shadows."
Kyla didn't argue. She simply mirrored the field log onto her wrist slate.
Suspect detained. Witnesses present. Suspect physically resisted separation. No visible injuries on the complainant. Statement pending.
Back at the station, the process began.
Four hours later, the suspect was still in intake.
He had complained of "chest tightness" once inside the patrol unit, prompting a field medic callout under Section 3 of the new Arrest-to-Arraignment Protocol. Royal Medic Arel Thorn had examined him on scene, found "no credible signs of cardiac distress," and signed off for jail clearance.
"Classic case of jailitis," Thorn noted dryly, scribbling onto the suspect's clearance card.
"I've seen it three times this week," said Officer Korrin as they finally logged the arrest into the booking ledger. "Next thing you know, they'll be claiming a unicorn trampled their spine."
"Won't matter," Kyla muttered. "As long as we log it and get the clearance, the delay's covered."
Eighteen hours after the arrest, the arraignment notice was issued and transmitted via station relay.
Kyla stood before Magistrate Halver the following morning, reading her report aloud before the docket as part of the first formal evaluation under the protocol.
"You logged the scene, documented the medical delay, and followed caution procedures when asking the suspect for a clarification statement," Halver said, scrolling through the evidence slate. "And you notified the complainant prior to hearing."
He looked up at her. "Clean. Exactly how this system is meant to function."
Across the city, similar stories emerged:
A DUI suspect required an 8-hour sobering hold, with arraignment following 36 hours later.
A street brawler faked a broken leg but was cleared by medics and booked within five.
A minor theft suspect refused to speak at all—officers followed the caution policy and proceeded without issue.
Each case brought greater confidence.
Each delay logged, each procedure followed, each outcome verified.
By the end of the week, the Codifiers published their first amendment:
Clarification Notice – Crownstead Provisional Code
"Delays due to medical clearance, suspected intoxication, or falsified health claims (colloquially known as 'jailitis') are acceptable causes for arraignment beyond 24 hours, up to a hard maximum of four days. Officers must continue to follow all custody documentation and callout procedures."
Kyla passed the notice on a bulletin board as she left shift that night. She smiled slightly.
They weren't just enforcing law anymore.
They were living it.
Segment 4: Posted in Stone
The morning sun caught the etched surface of the polished blackstone tablet as workers lowered it into place beneath the east arch of Crownstead Square. The base was anchored into a platform of pale realmstone and flanked by two guard pillars bearing the crest of the Royal Codex and the Vigil Sigil.
A small crowd had already formed—guild apprentices, market vendors, off-shift medics, and a handful of curious children. Word had spread that the Crown's justice would no longer be passed around in scrolls or whispered in court corridors.
It would be posted—clearly, permanently, and publicly.
King Ethan stood at the front of the gathered officials, his cloak draped in navy and silver, the sash of the Articles of Allegiance clipped across his chest. Behind him stood key contributors to the Codex: Magistrate Halver, Amara Belyan, Investigator Vell, Officer Kyla Merin, and others who had helped write and refine the words now about to be unveiled.
"Law must be more than force," Ethan said, voice firm but steady. "It must be known. Seen. Understood by those who live under it—and trusted by those who uphold it."
He nodded toward the workers.
The veil was pulled back.
The Crownstead Code of Criminal Procedure (Public Ledger)
Issued by the Order of the Sovereign
Affirmed by the Codifiers of Crownstead
This posting affirms the following rights and expectations of all persons residing within or visiting the City of Crownstead"
• You have the right to know the cause for your detainment or arrest.
• You have the right to reasonable access to medical care if injured or in distress.
• You have the right to request legal representation or speak for yourself before a magistrate.
• You have the right to a hearing within a fair and timely window (typically between two and four days).
• You have the right to be informed when you are being questioned in relation to an incident while in custody.
• You may request to be notified of proceedings if you are the victim of a reported crime.
Enforcement officials are required to follow lawful procedure and are accountable under the Articles of Allegiance.
Note: Internal guidance governing officer conduct, transport security, interview protocols, and response tactics are maintained by the Arcadia Department of Public Safety and are subject to official audit and royal review.
Whispers moved through the crowd as citizens began to read the engravings, some aloud, others silently tracing their fingers over the bold sections.
"This is for us?" one older man asked, turning to a nearby officer.
"For all of us," the trooper replied.
Kyla watched a mother gently read the headings to her young daughter.
"That's the section that makes sure people can't lie to hurt others," she explained. "And that one means officers have to follow rules too."
Nearby, Callen Vire leaned against the stone railing, arms crossed. "Doesn't feel like it did when I first arrived," he said softly. "This feels… real now."
Kyla nodded. "It is. It's not perfect, but it's planted."
At the end of the ceremony, Ethan raised one hand and gave the final pronouncement:
"This shall be the first post of many. Let every district, ward, and township carry a Code Board in public sight. Let the law walk beside the people—not in shadow, but in honor."
The crowd applauded—not thunderously, but with sincerity.
Because they didn't just hear the law that day.
They saw it.
Segment 5: Civic Trust Rising
The day after the Civic Code was posted, a change began—not through grand declarations or royal summons, but in the quiet, daily rhythms of the city.
In North Grove, a market vendor voluntarily handed over a counterfeit token ring, saying, "Might as well start clean. Don't want my daughter growing up thinking this stuff's fine."
In Southbank, a young trooper walked a beat alone for the first time. A carpenter's apprentice called out to him, "We saw your station's post. If anything kicks off near the docks, you'll hear from us first."
And in Guildmere Ward, the scribes who helped etch the Code stood beside it each morning to read the articles aloud for illiterate citizens.
The law hadn't just reached the people.
It had rooted.
Inside Sentinel Hall, the leadership of the Arcadia Department of Public Safety reviewed the first formal trust survey.
System Report: Civic Trust Monitor – Crownstead
Public Confidence Rating: Moderate → Stable (↑1 Tier)
Public Complaint Volume: Low
Officer Conduct Reviews: Clean
Average Response Time: 11 minutes (City-wide)
Public Comments:– "I know my rights now."– "Officers actually follow rules here."– "The Code is written in a way even I understand."
Trust Status: Rising
Ethan reviewed the report quietly in his office, pen paused above a correspondence draft.
"Not bad for ten chapters in," he murmured.
Beside him, Elira Dorne nodded once.
"This isn't just a city anymore," she said. "It's becoming a standard."
That evening, Officer Kyla Merin visited the Civic Code stone before heading home. She ran her fingers across one of the etched lines.
"The law walks beside the people—not in shadow, but in honor."
For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself a smile—not the tight, guarded kind—but something real.
Above her, the lamps of Crownstead glowed steady.
And Arcadia breathed easier.