Volcadon

It works the highest calderas where the air itself wavers, drinking heat from the lava the way another animal drinks from a stream, and it can go days without moving, a black silhouette against the glow, digesting sunlight and sulfur. When it does rouse, the display is total: the dorsal fires geyser upward, the ground shudders, and every smaller Fire-type on the slope goes still and deferential. It is, for all that, unhurried and even gentle with its own young, warming their eggs in the ash with a care that seems almost apologetic for its size.